


Terrible Sting, Terrible Storm

by SelinOriginal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drarry, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, WIP, lmk if you want more lol, might go back and finish this one day!, unfinished--sorry guys!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26510197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelinOriginal/pseuds/SelinOriginal
Summary: Harry and Draco have a chance encounter on the train (well--Harry may have run to his compartment. But still!). An eighth year fic, post-war.--It had been a full two years since the last time they’d seen each other, and Harry was more startled than he’d anticipated to see that familiar shock of ice-blond hair he’d spent years resenting.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Terrible Sting, Terrible Storm

**Author's Note:**

> FUCK JK ROWLING, FUCK TERFS!!! Trans rights!!!! Posting bc this Drarry fic is unfinished but I have come back to some stories I've been working on lately and have been contemplating finishing this. Lmk in comments if I should write some more! This is just pretty much the intro obvi. <3 Disclaimer that I don't own Harry Potter obvi, but if I did I'd donate all the proceeds to TRANS RIGHTS causes.

Harry hurried through the hallway on his way back towards Ron and Hermione’s compartment when he found what he was looking for.  _ Who _ he was looking for. It had been a full two years since the last time they’d seen each other, and Harry was more startled than he’d anticipated to see that familiar shock of ice-blond hair he’d spent years resenting. He arrived on the same train along with everyone else--minus a few faces that he remembered, but they all blurred together at this point. He wasn’t sure what exactly to expect.

Harry felt as if he’d been living in a strange parallel universe, as if the past seven years had been or dream. Or maybe this was the dream? The first thing he’d thought upon seeing Draco was, somewhat nonsensically,  _ he’s grown his hair out _ . For some reason, Harry didn’t think he’d look any different. He’d rehearsed with his therapist many times what a conversation between the two of them would look like,  _ could _ look like, if it could even happen. What can you say to someone who owes you their life, many times over? Someone who was both responsible and not responsible for so much in Harry’s life, who was pretty much the primary cause of his suffering for six years?

Mathilde, the third therapist he’d tried after many others rejected him ostensibly based on having lost family in the war, had a small office in Hogsmeade above the newly refurbished Florean Fortescue ice cream parlor. It seemed as if every building Harry walked past was a haunted house in some way. The Shrieking Shack, Madam Malkins, Madam Puddifoot’s where he’d spent the most ill-fated Valentine’s Day of his life with Cho, who had been corresponding with him via owl for the past few months. The train felt a bit haunted too, but he was ready. He’d practiced.

Harry slid open the heavy glass door.

“Hey,” he interjected, a little breathless from the last-minute decision to jog to Malfoy’s compartment before someone else got there first.

Malfoy looked up at him with an unreadable expression. He seemed shocked and a little affronted.

“Potter,” he halfheartedly sneered after a pregnant pause, apparently as a greeting--a reflex that would be hard to break. Once he’d said it, Draco instantly looked down at his shoes. He looked gaunt and sheepish, less confident than usual. Harry noted that this was one of the only times he’d seen Malfoy without at least a couple lackeys by his side.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” Harry said as he slid the compartment door closed and took the seat opposite Draco.

“Yeah, well. Not all of us were born rich and famous and loved by everyone, you know. We can’t all coast by on fame alone.”

Harry sighed and turned to look out the window. Why did he even bother? Several years ago Harry might have had some quick retort at the ready, but that was then.

“Sorry,” Malfoy said, so quietly that Harry barely picked it up.

“S’okay.”

They sat in silence for a while, Harry concentrating on the condensation fogging up the glass outside. It reminded him a little of the weather on the train in third year, when the dementors had searched the Hogwarts Express.

“Your hair’s longer.” Draco commented nonchalantly, breaking the silence. His tone pissed Harry off. Malfoy thought that he could just make conversation about Harry’s appearance, as if they were old school friends.

“Yeah, after everything that’s happened, I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about my hair, actually.”

“Well, I do.”

Harry scoffed. “That’s obvious enough.” He had to admit, Malfoy was looking more well-kept than the last time he’d seen him. Granted, that had been at the Ministry during the post-war trials, but he was still surprised.

“Thanks, Potter. That’s a real compliment.” Draco ran his fingers through his white-blond impeccably styled hair.

“How’s your mum?” Harry asked, eager to change the subject from Draco’s hair routine.

Draco’s eyes narrowed.

“Fine, how’s yours?”

Harry stood up immediately.

“Right then. Great. I tried. Bye, Malfoy. Nice to see you’ve not changed at all.” He clutched his wand instinctively and slid the compartment door open again, disengaging from the situation as fast as he could.

“Wait, Potter, don’t go--Harry!”

Draco suddenly gripped Harry’s shoulder from behind. Harry shrugged it off and didn’t look back as he searched the train for Ron and Hermione.

~~~

When the trolley came through the aisle advertising pumpkin pasties, chocolate frogs, and cauldron cakes, Harry couldn’t help but be drawn in by the nostalgia of it all. He bought one of almost everything for himself, Ron, and Hermione. After the trolley lady realized who he was and burst into grateful tears, it was all Harry could do to not hand her the entire coin purse so she would stop. By now, Harry was used to people making a scene upon recognizing him. He’d been on the receiving end of enough spontaneous marriage proposals from strange women (and a few blokes) on the street to know how to navigate something like this.

Of course, the brief interruption didn’t stop Harry and Ron from immediately digging into all the sweets they could once the compartment door was closed.

“D’you remember the first time we met and you bought out the entire trolley for us?” Ron exclaimed, mouth full of chocolate marshmallow.

Harry nodded enthusiastically, mouth just as full of Bertie Bott’s, and swallowed (with some difficulty) several anchovy flavored beans before responding. “I couldn’t have let you eat that sandwich alone! You would’ve starved!”

Hermione scoffed. “I don’t think either one of you have ever been close to starving since I’ve known you. Ron, don’t think I don’t know where that potroast my parents sent over went.”

Ron froze, obviously caught out.

“It was delicious!” He raised his hands. “Your mum’s an amazing chef! Sue me! It’s not my fault that muggles have mastered how to season meat!”

Hermione turned back to her book with a sigh.

“Honestly, Ronald…”

While Ron and Hermione bickered, Harry carefully unboxed the chocolate frog package he was holding. This time around he was going to do everything in his power to avoid a rogue frog situation--something Harry wished he’d had the foresight to think of in the past. With Neville serving as a combination of Hogwarts’ resident Herbology professor and the unlikely conductor of toad choir this year, there were likely enough out of control amphibians on the train for Harry to add to the chaos.

“What card did you get this time?” Ron asked, stuffing the entire chocolate frog into his mouth at once.

“Dunno yet. Lemme look…” Harry turned over the small iridescent card in his hand. A tiny picture of his own smiling face grinned up at him. He stared for a minute.

Harry almost didn’t  _ want _ to admit to his friends that he’d opened up a sweets packet and found that the prize was a collectible trading card of himself. He was wary of any kind of attention these days--Harry had had enough excitement in his school days to last him several lifetimes, thank you very much--but if anyone was going to treat him normally and not make a big deal out of it, it would be Ron and Hermione.

“Oh. It’s, erm...me. My card.”

Hermione looked up from her book, eyebrows furrowed.

“What?  _ Your  _ card?”

Ron nudged Harry’s foot with his own.

“That’s amazing, mate! Who would’ve thought! That’s got to feel good. Give it over, I want to see if they’ve done your scar right.”

Harry shook his head sadly.

“You’re so right Ron, they’ve carved a massive cock into my forehead instead of a lightning bolt. Awful mistake.”

At that, Hermione gave up completely on getting any reading done during the train ride, shutting her book with a sigh.

“Actually, Harry...” she began in a guarded tone of voice that meant she was trying to bite her tongue, “I’m genuinely concerned that people are beginning to market you like this.”

“Market him?!” Ron exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

“A corporation starting to sell Harry’s likeness is a slippery slope and I don’t think it’s as big an honor as you seem to think it is...It just worries me. Harry’s not a  _ brand _ .”

Ron scoffed. “I never said he was a brand! What are you, his manager?”

“I’m his  _ friend _ !” Hermione interjected.

“Hermione,” Ron continued. “All I’m saying is that you’re muggleborn so you never got to collect chocolate frog cards! You don’t know what it’s like. Almost every witch and wizard grows up excited about these. Harry’s face is out there inspiring every child in Britain! People love it!”

Hermione gave him a skeptical look and turned to Harry.

“What do you think, Harry? It’s  _ your _ face and achievements they’re monetizing and exploiting.”

Harry had been mentally checked out for almost the entire conversation, practicing the skill-turned-habit he’d mastered at the Dursleys’ of disconnecting completely from his surroundings. His eyes were still fixed on the chocolate frog card in his hand as his mind replayed the interaction with Malfoy over and over.

Had Malfoy said that Harry’s hair was ‘longer’ as an insult? What did that even mean? If it was an insult, why was it such a piss-poor slight? He used to be meaner, quicker to bite. His clothes had looked good; well-fitting and expensive. Was there someone taking care of him, going shopping with him? A girlfriend? A wife, even?  _ Probably a house elf _ , Harry thought bitterly.

Harry remembered the last time he’d seen Draco Malfoy in person. It was at the Ministry of Magic when Lucius Malfoy stood trial. Draco had made sharp eye contact with Harry across the courtroom when the verdict was announced; Lucius had struck a plea deal. He wouldn’t spend a day in Azkaban for what he’d done. That was almost five years ago now. Harry wondered what Malfoy’s life had become. If he was still living in his father’s shadow. He felt a pang in his stomach when he realized how little he knew about the man Malfoy had become since the war.

“...Harry?” Hermione asked again.

“What? Oh. Hi. Sorry. What were you saying, Hermione? I’m sure you’re right, definitely.”

“Seriously?” She said disapprovingly. “Why do I even bother? If you ever want to talk about your right to privacy as an individual, please let me know.”

Hermione paused. “Wait a minute. What’s got you so distracted? Where did you get to earlier, after you left for the bathroom?”

Ron squinted his eyes. “Hold on...Yeah, where  _ did _ you run off to, mate? You were gone a while.”

“Erm...I...ran into Malfoy,” Harry lied, deciding to omit the fact that the meeting was anything but random and that he had, in fact, been obsessing over seeing Malfoy again ever since he’d decided to come back to Hogwarts.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

“...Draco Malfoy?” Hermione asked carefully. “He’s here? Did he say anything to you?”

“Not really,” Harry lied again, averting his eyes. “He said my hair was longer, I guess.”

“You  _ guess _ ?!” Ron exclaimed. “Malfoy spoke to you and you didn’t duel him on the spot? He’s lucky he’s still alive. Honestly. I’m sure he’s a right prat still, the absolute scum.”

“Actually, that reminds me. I’ve been meaning to tell y--” Hermione began, but the train whistle sounded, indicating that it was time for students to change into their robes.


End file.
